Of Flowers, Identities and Salvation
by Dark Glass Marionette
Summary: And the flowers never withered.  *Oneshot, no pairings*


**Author's Note: **Finally a fanfic on this one. Seriously, this section has barely any contributions, and this trilogy is the best series of books EVAH! My first (and not last) attempt at TNA fanfiction... there will be more coming, oh yeah (as many as Kylar's resurrections, or more even) xD

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything; copyright goes to Brent Weeks.**

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A month.

A month since that dreadful moment… Elene's funeral. A month since he'd lost his most treasured and cherished possession in the whole world: Elene. No day would go by without his having thought about her. And yet, despite his desires to get her back, there was nothing else he could ask for. Pain was his companion, but so were serenity and stillness. It was thanks to Elene that he had everything and like Durzo would've said, she'd done her piece.

Kylar glanced at the three red tulips in his hands, then at her grave, at the tulips and then at Elene's grave again. He somehow feared settling them down next to her gravestone, unsure of what would happen… of what he would feel. Once more, Kylar gave vent to his pain and let a few tears flow, even asking the One God for Elene to be happy wherever she was now. The One God… would He actually listen to his request? It was a question nobody would answer.

"Still hanging around?"

Kylar turned to see Durzo approaching him, features impassive yet with a glint in his eyes. A smile crept up to Kylar's face but he knew he could only force it; instead of doing that, he turned again and laid the tulips before the gravestone. He made sure to dry his tears before facing Durzo. As he rose, Durzo knelt and placed five white roses beside the tulips. The roses had drops of fresh dew on their petals and their shining under the sunlight was one of the most beautiful sights Kylar had seen in a long time.

"They're just beautiful. I'd never seen a white rose before; where'd you get them?"

"They're very common on the north of Waeddryn," said Durzo, stroking a rose's petals. "I hadn't seen one for the past ten years. The Waeddryners are quite fond of these and they're the best flower a bride can get. Besides," Durzo stood, a brief smile of longing on his features, "she deserves the best."

"Thank you," Kylar replied, bowing his head. A knot caught in his throat as he stared at the roses: they were as beautiful as Elene. Both flowers reminded him of her and Vi. And she was sensing his pain, for the relief and consolation that tugged at his heart were only Vi's. He thanked her, genuinely, and his heart was at ease once more.

"You know, I'm glad you stepped in to protect her that day," Durzo said suddenly. Kylar stole a tentative glance at him, who stood with his eyes closed and head tilted forward. "I have to thank her not only for what she did, but for what she did to _you_… Azoth."

Kylar jumped at the mention of his former name. Azoth. The naïve, foolish and cowardly Azoth: the identity Durzo himself had stripped him of. Rigid, Kylar fixed his eyes upon his master.

"Azoth is gone."

"And so is Kylar Stern," Durzo replied, his tone as hard as Kylar's. "Now you're wondering what identity you should choose for yourself, right? The Night Angel is Nameless, and he has many faces. Whichever you choose, beware: don't let it shape you any other way. Because when you choose another mask, you almost forget who you were before."

Kylar looked away. Of course: Gaelan Starfire, Ferric Fireheart… All those names had required new lives, new identities, new changes. For the world, Durzo Blint was more than gone: he was a shadow of the past. But despite having adopted a new identity, he still clung to Durzo Blint himself, the bitter man Kylar had known for almost his entire life.

And it was the same for Kylar. Now that he'd stopped fighting, assuming an identity was difficult. The Night Angel was his essence, but it wasn't good enough. Baronet Stern was the rightful Baronet Stern, not some Warrens orphan who'd grown up to be a wetboy. Azoth had died long ago, but traces of the young boy still remained within Kylar. If there was no name to choose…

"Who am I, then?" The question was for both Durzo and Elene. Would she answer him, be it one way or the other? "I have a name, Kylar -courtesy of a certain person- but somehow, now that it's all over, it doesn't seem enough. It's like I were lost."

"You've whoever you want to be, Kylar," Durzo said, facing him. "No matter what, we'll still be wetboys for the rest of our lives, and we wetboys have a principle we can't ignore. I think you which one that is."

"'The perfect killer has no identity, but many faces'," said Kylar, looking down at his hands. "And that _is_ an advantage, but sometimes…" He suddenly felt it was getting awkward, but no tension or uneasiness arose. In fact, Durzo looked amused. Kylar decided to change the subject. "Tell me something: what do you think Elene did to me? Not that I can't feel it, but I want an… external opinion, so to speak."

Durzo shot him an exasperated look but after a brief moment, he smiled. "You somehow remind me of Gwinvere. Don't ask me why; it' s better if she tells you personally. But what Elene did was saving you from yourself."

_Saving me from myself? Gods, she did that and more. _

"After a few lives, I spiralled down into my own feelings, one of a wetboy's greatest sins and mistakes," said Durzo after dipping his head at Elene's gravestone and walking away. Kylar said one last goodbye and followed after his master. "That's why I told you everything about a wetboy's view on life. When you killed me, I had a long –and long, boy- time to reflect. I stayed in the Antechamber for ages, thinking and wracking my brains. And I understood… hence the change."

At that juncture of their conversation, Durzo and Kylar had reached one of the busiest streets of the city. In that moment, Kylar noticed Uly about to walk past them. She was humming to herself, carrying a small basket under her arm and a smile on her face. Kylar was going to call to her when Durzo strode forward and swept the girl off her feet.

"Careful with the basket!" she cried, flicking the back of Durzo's head.

"Dammit, squirt, don't bare your fangs at me!" Durzo snapped in return, slipping his arm under Uly's knees and letting her hang upside-down. Uly glared daggers at her father, and then she noticed Kylar and put on a puppy-like face, begging for her release.

Durzo and Kylar shared a long look of disbelief and then they both burst into silent laughter.

Kylar was lost no more. He found himself in his own laughter.

And the flowers never withered.


End file.
